


All In A Lifetime's Work

by KitsuneKami



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Aziraphale is A Pop Star, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Established Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Happy Ending, If You Squint - Freeform, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Some Fluff, Some angst, but I swear it has context, some violence, tiny bit of non-con, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-08-20 10:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20226583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitsuneKami/pseuds/KitsuneKami
Summary: Aziraphale gets a new assignment, and practically a new 'life' - forced to leave his beloved bookshop and demon. An angel's voice is finally put to good use.orHeaven decides to get creative and makes Aziraphale into a Pop Star





	1. Chapter 1

Aziraphale stared at his reflection and studied the face staring back. It was new, a face and body he has yet to get used to. After inhabiting one for 6000 years and more, one tends to miss it for the first few years.

Its still those first few years.

It didn't help either that this body was much younger, groomed and styled so differently from his personal taste. Aziraphale's pale eyes fell upon his new-ish nose and new-ish lips, his light blonde hair cut, colored, styled and gel-ed into what his hairstylist called a "razor-textured angled long-bang shaggy", which was a actually just nifty way of saying side-parting his somewhat wavy hair and making it look messy and not-so-messy at the same time. He absently rubbed his chin and longed for his old close cropped curls that were neat and didn't need such excessive maintenance.

Vanity.

He had cried vanity when Up Above suddenly gave him his new assignment on Earth. Vanity and as many of the Seven Deadly sins he tried to name in the two seconds he was able to speak - which wasn't too many under the circumstances.

> _"We have decided your new assignment on Earth, Aziraphale. Heaven needs a way to endear itself to the youth. Times are a-changing, and we must proceed with more... aggressive means. Your guise as a book collector is of no longer use."_

The Metatron had said, and Aziraphale then, even in his incredulity, heard the amusement in its voice.

> _"Its about time we put that angelic voice of yours to good use."_

Aziraphale took a deep breath and looked away from the mirror. The door to his spacious dressing room swung open and a tall man walked in. He was dressed in a tailored white suit and a lightly colored turtleneck. His hair was dark, and carefully combed. Aziraphale eyed the other, noted the terrible gold jewelry, but said nothing about the matter.

"Azira, baby!" he gave the angel a hearty pat on the shoulder "What's taking so long? Those posters aren't gonna sign themselves you know."

"Maybe not tonight Gabriel." Aziraphale replied primly. He winced, "I really hate - er, dislike the camera-weilding throng."

Gabriel smiled, "The paparazzi photographer humans? Nonsense. We got it covered. You'll be fine." He walked idly to one of Aziraphale's desk drawers and fished out a book. He looked at it for a while and dropped it back. It was old and yellowing, and he caught Aziraphale watching it carefully. Gabriel leveled his eyes on the angel, "You wouldn't want to break those young girls hearts, do you?"

Aziraphale visibly cringed, if there was anyone who knew how to play on his guilt-strings it would be Gabriel.

And Crowley.

"Alright, fine then. Why didn't they pick you instead Gabriel? This really is more your kind of - er - gig." he said, the unfamiliar modern word rolling unwanted off his tongue. He stood up and smoothed out his tailored white coat. It was crisp, and cleanly cut, but oh how he missed his old comfortable tweed coats and tartan scarves.

"Nah. Not my thing. Didn't anyone tell you? I almost died of stage fright when I had to do that annunciation assignment. I'm more of the backstage kind of guy."

Aziraphale had to stop his eyes from rolling. "Er, right." He shook his head and checked the sky blue polo-shirt underneath the coat as the archangel ushered him out of the room.

"We're doing God's work. Lighten up."

Aziraphale sighed. "Of course." He didn't lighten up, and allowed himself to be led out. He mentally braced himself at the thought of the coming onslaught. Oh how he despised his current existence. It will be a circus out there, and not the kind he particularly liked. 

* * *

It was a circus alright. It was a circus every night. Aziraphale signed posters and CDs (he still can't over the fact his face was on each and every one of them) and posed for pictures with the hundreds of adoring fan-girls and fan-boys that lined up. He kept a pleasant smile plastered on his face and did his best to be genuinely interested with whatever each one had to say. He often wondered how human celebrities did this on a regular basis. He was an angel, he needed no sleep or drink, and yet he was drained to the core.

Aziraphale stepped into his new flat and the door locked itself behind him. He didn't bother to turn on the lights as he took off his coat and shuffled out his sneakers (he had to admit though, he liked wearing those) and padded barefoot on his lush white carpet towards the kitchen. He flicked on the lights. It was all steel and shine, made of sleek black marble lines and stark white walls.

  
Aziraphale grabbed a waiting kettle and began to fill it with water. They had let him keep his books, but he so missed his old bookshop in London. He longed for his old kitchenette and battered arm chair. He missed his grocer and the ability to walk unknown in a crowd without needing to 'miracle' it. He missed the ducks at St. James, he missed their old park bench, and those long walks with...

He sighed inwardly, and set the kettle on the electric stove. He missed Crowley. He missed the demon barging in on him and insisting that they go out or see some new film 'documentary' Crowley knew Aziraphale would hate. At least his present flat kind of reminded him of Crowley. It was not so different from the demon's home, and the angel was sure Crowley would have liked New York.

  
Aziraphale waited for the water to boil, lost in his thoughts.

"So, how was the meet-and-greet tonight?"

"Insufferable." Aziraphale answered absentmindedly then jumped - almost practically jumped out of his human body and then some. He turned to the voice, "Crowley?!"

"Were you expecting anyone else?" Crowley said slyly, leaning on the door frame leading into the kitchen. He drank in Aziraphale's new countenance, noting with great interest that the angel was wearing jeans and a tight blue shirt. "You look different, angel. Real different. Can't say I like it yet, but I'll get used to it." he chuckled. "You sound different too. Nice American accent."

"What the hell are you doing here?!" Aziraphale nervously looked around, he must have been so wrapped up in his thoughts he didn't even sense the demonic aura. That could have been fatal for him. Dangerous.

"Wow. Nice to see you too, angel."

Aziraphale shook his head, "No, no. You can't be here. What if Gabriel finds out you're here?!" he hissed.

"Oh Gabriel? The twat gave me your address."

"What?!"

Crowley was most amused, "How do you think I found you? He said you looked like you could use some cheering up." His mind automatically went through several scenarios of what 'cheering up the angel' could entail - he liked all of them.

Aziraphale finally sighed and took the kettle off the heat. He brought out a jar of cocoa and began carefully measuring out spoonfuls into two cups. "He said that?" Crowley shrugged and watched the angel pour out water for both of them and set out a pot of cream. Some things just never changed.

"I guess its that bad huh?" Aziraphale ran a hand through his hair, trying to get the long bangs out of his eyes. "Even Gabriel thinks I need help." He took a long sip from his winged white cup and Crowley noted its presence happily. It had been a gift many years ago.

The demon slowly walked over and sat at the counter. He couldn't help but notice how Aziraphale looked so much like his old self despite the new body. No wonder the angel had so many fans in the short time he's been out there. His angel's smile was electric, and genuine; his eyes piercing yet kind - no change in bodies can ever change the angelic soul underneath.

Sure, he's seen the CDs and posters and _Azira_ tour adverts on tv, but it was real different seeing the angel's new persona in actuality. For the first time in centuries Crowley equated Aziraphale with the term 'Hot'. "Yeah. I brought something to drink. Thought that would cheer you up." he said as he magically produced a bottle of wine. Chateau Lafitte, one of the angel's favorites.

"Oh Crowley, you shouldn't have." Aziraphale blushed but nonetheless set down his mug to fetch a couple of wine glasses. "Its been a while. Gabriel isn't a very good drinking partner. He hasn't mastered the sobering up part yet."

"I could imagine. How long has he been here?" Crowley said, and followed Aziraphale into the den. He opened the bottle of wine without so much as a thought.

Aziraphale sat down a large plush sofa, and leaned back on an arm rest. "I don't know, maybe 2, 3 years. Just around the time my 'career' started." He handed Crowley a glass and held out his which was immediately filled midway. He took a sip, and distractedly opened a couple of buttons down his shirt. Crowley tried his best not to look too distracted at that small patch of angel chest and took a seat at the other end of the sofa. Aziraphale didn't notice the demon's stare. "So why are you here really? Aside from cheering me up. I asked specifically to be left alone." he said quietly.

"Business. Officially anyway. You know what I mean." he emptied his glass and refilled it quickly. "They want me to keep an eye on you. Your songs are growing popular, kids holding hands instead of making out. Random acts of kindness are through the roof." He blanched, "Charity, Virtue and Chastity levels are at an all time high."

"Ahhh, they're worried are they?" the Principality smiled. He actually felt proud about that. 

"They didn't think Heaven could pull it off. Much less have the creativity to think this up. You guys are far too old-fashioned for something like this, no offense. What, with songs like _'Good Samaritan'_ and _'Lovin is For All Time'_, I didn't think you'd make it either." Crowley grinned into his wine, "Serve up the cheese and ham, why don't you?"

Aziraphale sipped, and ignored the demon's criticism. "Thank you for the vote of confidence, my dear." he said, letting his old English accent to return. He certainly missed sounding British, he mused.

Crowley leaned forward to pour more wine into Aziraphale's glass. "Must be your new look angel. Its you, but not you. Younger. Never thought I'd see you in denim." he looked thoughtful, gulped down his drink once again and refilled. He knew it was a travesty drinking wine this expensive and old like common fare but he needed to be sloshed for this kind of conversation. "I like the hair." 

"Yes. That. Thank you." Aziraphale gave him a mirthless smile. "I find it distracting, and itchy. I miss our old life."

"Me too." the demon said quietly.

"Itchy?"

Crowley raised his eyes and peered over his sunglasses meaningfully.

Aziraphale suddenly understood and blushed, "Oh."

They both fell into a tense silence, words wanting to be said but held in check. It had only been a couple of years since they last saw each other. Ten years since the failed Armageddon. One would think that to a pair of beings who will live til the end of time, 2 years would be but a blink to the eye. Yet to the unlikely couple, it had been too long a time spent apart in the past few centuries.

It was Crowley who broke the silence, "How much longer will this assignment last?"

"I don't know. Another 3, maybe 5 years?" Aziraphale smiled and tried to sound jovial, "Or until they get tired of me. You know how fickle these kids are. One day you're their hero, next you're on those ghastly tabloid magazines."

It was the demons turn to give a half-smile, those tabloids were his invention. "But that's a maybe, angel. 3 years will turn into 5, into 10 then 20. Up to point when they can't explain why you still look so damn young anymore. There's only so many excuses plastic surgery can make, and I know your people aren't very keen on lying."

"Then it'll end Crowley. We know it will end. Just a matter of time I guess." Aziraphale threw a glance at the demon.

"Too long angel." Crowley placed down his glass on the coffee table and slid down the sofa towards the angel. He never was really good with words, the angel knew this, so the demon settled on what he knew well. He brought up a slender finger to Aziraphale's cheek and traced a line down to his chin. Aziraphale trembled, looked away and blushed scarlet.

"You know I can't leave this. No matter how much I want to. I can't." Aziraphale trained his eyes away from Crowley, afraid that his resolve would fail. Oh how he wanted to collapse now into the demon's arms and leave this new existence. To pretend and come home to his bookshop and Crowley would pick him up every night at 8 for dinner. "It is my duty." he said with a faltering voice.

Crowley drew himself up to Aziraphale and pulled the angel into his embrace. "I know." he said, feeling the slim figure relax its frame to his chest. As Aziraphale buried his head into the crook of the demon's shoulder, Crowley sighed, "I'll work it out."  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's short, although I feel that the 'end' befits the end of a Chapter. 
> 
> As always, comments are most welcome :) they make me all warm and fuzzy inside, and absolutely don't care if I sound like a ho asking for em. Ha ha.

Aziraphale looked up irritably from his desk and silenced the alarm clock blaring out 7:30 am with a glare. He sighed and laid down his tweezers and brush, took off his white gloves and cautiously covered the book he had been religiously repairing. After Crowley fell asleep on the sofa, Aziraphale had disentangled himself and tucked him in with a blanket the demon wouldn't have been caught dead using.

The angel had been holed up the rest of the night in his makeshift workroom just as he had in his old bookshop, hidden away in the deep recesses of the absurdly large walk-in closet that came with the flat. He sighed, turned off the desk lamp, morosely stepped out of his secret cubby and covered it with his coat rack. He flipped on another light switch with a snap of his fingers and a warm glow illuminated the rest of the closet. Aziraphale plucked up an index card taped among others on his mirror at random.

Lucky outfit #056. It outlined in great detail, replete with illustrations, what Aziraphale was to wear for the day. Gabriel - to Aziraphale's surprise, and utter dismay - was much more obsessive compulsive than the Principality. He would not leave anything to chance, not especially Aziraphale's public image which only took the will of Heaven itself to implement.

Aziraphale eyed the rest of the indexcards and considered for a second if #063 looked more appealing. Nope. It was just as 'modern' as everything else. Didn't matter really. Nothing was appealing to him. So he went on to pick out the items in the list, putting them on exactly as the card illustrated.

Crisp white shirt #24, Khaki pants #11, red belt with unusually large buckle (Aziraphale thought that it was ridiculous, but nonetheless put it on. Things were hard enough as it is, and nobody wants an irate Archangel breathing down your neck over a stupid belt), red Chuck Taylors pair#2. The only thing he really liked were the sneakers. Aziraphale made a mental note to keep a couple of pairs for himself as soon as this assignment was over.

Assuming it would be over soon. Where the term 'soon' hopefully only equaled 3 or 5 years more. But Aziraphale was no fool. Up There can and will continue this assignment for as long as they wish. Its so easily remedied, just a new face, a new body, or they can simply make Aziraphale 'age' indefinitely. With things going as well as it was now, this work will easily last a human lifetime.

Maybe longer.

That thought depressed Aziraphale even more, as he sullenly studied his reflection a last time before stepping out into his never-been-used bedroom. The sheets have never been touched, nor sat upon. The angel simply refused to believe that this assignment would take longer than he mentally accepted, and therefore only allowed himself to use this space as a temporary home.

Crowley must have sensed this deep depression last night, Aziraphale thought. The old snake had none of his usual sass and seemed almost... caring. He had to smile at that and walked into the living room only to find the demon missing. The tartan blanket was thrown aside, glasses and wine bottle the only evidence Crowley had been there.

Aziraphale tried not to be too disappointed and headed out, a limousine was waiting for him. He expected as much anyway. Since his reassignment, breakfast no longer held much of an appeal.

Today, he had a photo shoot and a meeting with his producers.

* * *

The meeting went well over brunch; Gabriel did most of the talking while Aziraphale did his best to smile through everything. If anyone noticed Gabriel's awkward and outdated manner of speaking, nobody said a word.

The only thing Aziraphale remembered was that the tea was exquisite and the devil's food cake, divine. At the very least, he liked some of the perks of this job.

Photoshoots on the other hand, were in Aziraphale's least-liked 'responsibilities' on the job list. It involved a great number of people, long hours dealing with moody photographers and art directors, 'emoting' in front of the camera (angels weren't exactly known for their skills in acting) and most of all; finding ways to avoid lying in the endless small talk the stylists, make-up artists, directors, producers, photographers and assistants just had to make. Aziraphale was still an angel, and there were only so many creative ways he can answer queries about his age and family history truthfully without saying outright that he wasn't human.

  
With a sigh, Aziraphale let himself be ushered into hair and make-up and allowed the stylists do what they do. At least his manicurist was a welcome sight, and Aziraphae was beginning to mentally phase out when Gabriel appeared next to him.

"Your new personal assistant is here, baby." he had a grin un-befitting of an angel at the moment. The term 'baby' sounded almost practiced and rehearsed. Aziraphale supposed the Archangel spent many nights watching old 80's movies, in an attempt to 'learn the culture'.

"What? I don't need a PA, Gabe. We talked about this before." The stylists were eagerly listening in, and Aziraphale patted himself on the back for remembering to use Gabriel's "manager" name.

Gabriel's grin grew wider. "Oh no, no. This one, you can't refuse."

Aziraphale finally looked up and his eyes widened when he spotted Crowley's familiar frame appear next to the Archangel's.

Crowley's mouth was twisted into a sly smile. "I would have picked a different position, angel. But Gabriel here drives a very hard bargain."


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley followed Aziraphale around the ordered chaos that was a typical photo shoot. He tended to - or at least pretended - to take care the angel's personal needs. Aziraphale had to pick up his jaw from his lap when he first saw Crowley, and the demon couldn't have been happier to illicit such a reaction. He also knew, from Aziraphale's pursed lips and glaring stare that the angel couldn't wait to ask him what the hell was he thinking. The demon's smile grew wider as he subtly encouraged even more chaos around him.

"Stop that, Crowley." Aziraphale quietly reprimanded the demon next to him while the wardrobe staff fussed around them. "I can feel you working them you know." To which Crowley replied with a pleased smirk.

Someone handed the angel a hanger and he soon disappeared behind a dressing partition. After a few moments, he peered out confused, "Er, young miss, where is my shirt?"

"None, Mr. Azira." a young woman answered, holding the rest of the angel's costume in her hands. A pair of costume white wings. "You're being shot as an angel today."

Aziraphale's face registered surprise, and some carefully controlled indignation and disappeared once again behind his screen. Crowley started laughing manically - oh, the irony of it! He had almost reduced himself to a fitful heap on the floor when Aziraphale reappeared in a pair of tight white pants and nothing else. The demon's mouth clamped shut and took in the angel's bare chest. He swallowed, entranced, along with the rest of the women (and some men) in the immediate vicinity. Crowley noted this with distaste. He snapped his fingers and everyone gaping suddenly remembered a most pressing matter across the other side of the room.

The angel looked uneasy - a default Aziraphale face - and walked over to Crowley. He was about to say something when the photographer and Gabriel appeared.

"Perfect! Perfect! Where are his wings? Wings!" the photographer shouted across the room, and the girl carrying the prop came scurrying back. She strapped them on with Gabriel's help and Aziraphale must have looked ill.

Gabriel squeezed Aziraphale's shoulders, "You alright Azira? Baby! Need anything?" He leaned down and gave a half smile half smirk.

"I... I could use something to calm my nerves right now."

The archangel's eyes swung towards the demon who was busy pretending to be nonexistent at the moment. "Crowley, get him something to drink."

The demon pointedly ignored him. It was one thing to agree to be some personal assistant, it completely another thing to be ordered around by an angel. Save for Aziraphale of course.

"Crowley," Gabriel's voice pressed. The smile plastered on his face was not pleasant at all.

"Hmm? Whot?" Crowley shrugged, "You asking me to get you something?"

"Well, duh. Yes. Get him some tea. They always have some ready over at the caterer." When Crowley didn't move, Gabriel glared, "What do you think I'm paying you for Tony?!"

Crowley's answering glare could have burned a hole right through the oblivious photographer and the wall behind him - and the room behind that - but nonetheless stalked away to fetch a cup of hot tea after a few moments of consideration. It was a good thing that none of the mortals around could see past the sunglasses.

"Thanks you, my dear." Aziraphale called after Crowley, and absently scratched at the straps running along his shoulders.

"We will digitally erase all of that out." the photographer appeared next to the angel. He waited for a moment until the pop star looked his way, then hurriedly led Aziraphale onto a set painted a convincing shade of sky blue. A large white throne stood off-center. "Come, this way Azira. Stand here, perfect! Our art director today will explain the theme. Yes?" he quickly hopped off the small set's dais.

Out of the woodwork appeared another man who took a moment to shake Aziraphale's hand. "Neil Garrison. I'm with IdeaBox. Nice to finally meet The one and only Azira. I must say, I'm a fan."

The angel shrugged, "Pleasure is all mine. What are we doing today, my goo-?" he caught himself and remembered to speak more casually as these Americans liked. "- er, Neil. Yes Neil. What do you need me to do?" He took a deep breath and tried to focus at the work to be done. He vaguely remembered IdeaBox as his marketing agency.

"Today we're doing the cover for your new single, plus a couple other sets for the marketing campaign. The usual."

Aziraphale inwardly sighed, 'the usual' meant he will be here until the wee hours of the morning. They'll be shooting everything today, from the CD cover to magazine spreads to billboard ads. Gabriel liked getting everything done in one fell swoop; he knew Aziraphale had a great aversion to photo shoots. Not only did scheduling all the tasks in one day made it easier to keep the Principality in line (also, he technically did not need to rest anyway), it also made the whole enterprise financially efficient. Gabriel it seemed, was bent on using all his bureaucratic and management expertise to any assignment at hand.

"Sure. What do you want me to do?" the angel asked as he picked distractedly at the straps again.

Neil explained in detail the 'look' he was going for, how they were going to add and subtract things on the computer, the lighting, the mood (which was "a subtle mix of heavenly, sexy and retro-hip"). Aziraphale merely nodded, most of the information exited right through his other ear. He'd learned, however, to ask the one question that yielded the best answer;

"So, do you want me to smile?"

"No, no. But don't look grumpy either. Just look... uh... thoughtful. Contemplative. Yes! Like that. Perfect."

Aziraphale was confused, he hadn't changed his expression yet. But if that was alright, then just go with it he guessed. He shrugged then parked himself on the plushly upholstered chair. He swung a leg over one of the ornately carved arms, mirroring a pose he had often seen Crowley do, draped over his old battered armchair in Soho.

The camera immediately started clicking away, and once in a while one of the assistants would come and touch up things here and there. They went through several poses - standing, sitting, leaning on the wall - more suggestive slouching. The angel opted for the same neutral look all throughout.

Soon enough, the art director called a break, Aziraphale stepped off the set and was greeted by the sight of Crowley still holding a paper cup. He heard Neil behind him frantically talking on his cellphone.

"Here." the demon handed it to him gruffly. Aziraphale sipped at it gratefully. The tea was still miraculously piping hot, and he gave Crowley a meaningful glance.

"Thanks." Aziraphale drank down some more and checked who was within earshot. He saw that Gabriel was busy on his cellphone, the irate director at his side. They seemed to be in a heated argument of sorts. Satisfied, he looked back at the demon, "How in the world did you convince Gabriel to let you stay?"

It was Crowley's turn to check if the Archangel was within earshot, "Let's just say that we made our own little arrangement. As long as I don't mess with your operation directly, I can stay."

"And as long as you do whatever Gabriel says?"

"Perceptive angel. Yes." Crowley shoved his hands in his pockets, and grinned. "Although on the bright side of things, I have exclusive access to all of your moves. I'm sure my bosses would appreciate that." A forked tongue slipped out for only the briefest of moments, "I csssertainly appreciate that."

Aziraphale blushed, but looked impressed. "That was very... sly of you Crowley."

"Sly indeed." Gabriel appeared between them and placed an arm over both their shoulders. "However demon, you're on my watch now too. And a deal's a deal." a searing tone surfaced from the angel's typically cultivated jovial mood. It was a tone Crowley knew well, and he knew it was best - or rather, paramount - that he 'behaved' for his own continued existence - for the moment at least. "One of our models for today couldn't seem to make it. I volunteered you Anthony J. Crowley."

"Now hold on, Gabriel, I agreed to nothing like this - "

The Archangel silenced him with a seething glare, "Oh. Yes you did. If you think your lot has got the contract signing down, I'm sure you'd be delighted to find that Heaven has caught up in that department as well."

"A model?" Aziraphale asked somewhat dumbly, tried to break the tension with some deflection. It was the best he could do under the circumstances.

Gabriel's face split into a smile, "Yes. See, IdeaBox won out the marketing bid with its Heaven smites Hell theme for your new single. Too bad their model can't make it today, but with the really tight schedule, we'll just have to make do." He gave Crowley a pat on the back which was only vaguely friendly. "And what do you know, I have a real demon available."

"Mr. Anthony Crowley?" a young assistant tapped lightly on the demon's shoulder. Should she have known who exactly she was touching, she might have realized how lucky she was that two angels were present to ensure she hadn't been instantly reduced into a smoldering pile of ash. "I'll bring you over to hair and make-up, I understand you will be our demon for today."

Crowley scowled, but nonetheless followed the hapless young lady. He muttered almost inaudibly, just enough for the other two inhuman beings in the room to hear; "I swear Gabriel, if I look stupid, deal's off. You can keep Aziraphale."

"Hey!" Aziraphale pouted.

Gabriel laughed, "Hot air." he gave his fellow angel a smile he could have only learned spending the last few years on Earth. "Can't wait to see the demon's face when he spots the bat wings and plastic pitchfork they got in the prop room."


	4. Chapter 4

  
The applause was almost deafening, coupled with the endless squeals of the women in the audience. Aziraphale found himself fighting the urge to cover his ears as he waved and walked towards the waiting woman onstage. The fact that the audience was almost entirely female certainly did not help - or rather greatly helped - the noise level in the small studio. Aziraphale smiled despite the barrage of visual information, both enamored at the fact that he was on television and utterly dismayed at the verbal farce that was to come. What in the world was Gabriel thinking when he allowed this (Aziraphale bit down the expletive forming in his mind) interview?!

"Welcome! Welcome to the show Azira. Glad you could come." the host smiled as she gave him a hug and handshake, then gestured to a plush cream chair next to hers. They both sat down as the audience settled themselves as if that was a cue for them to take their seats themselves.

Aziraphale's smile was carefully pasted on his face and he hoped it looked sincere. He eyed the audience for a second and spotted Crowley slouched a few rows from the front, he gave a thumbs up sign in only a way a demon can; disapprovingly.

"Thanks for having me." he said politely.

"So, Azira, first thing's first, I'm sure all the ladies here have the same question in mind; are you single?"

Damn, this lady certainly doesn't beat around the bush. Then again, she wouldn't be the queen of daytime television if she did. Aziraphale didn't even notice that his mind had just cursed not even 2 minutes into the interview. "One could... in a particularly certain way, say that..." He said carefully. The audience erupted into a collective sigh, including the host herself. She clutched a hand to her chest. Aziraphale wondered if he'd be fully justified to lie just this once or twice, or how many times it took in the next 10 minutes.

"He's single la~dies!" she beamed at him then rebounded with another question that sent the angel's mind and moral state reeling. "But are you seeing anyone? Just dating?"

"Er -" Aziraphale fought hard not to glance the demon's way, and even harder not to glance Gabriel's way. "Yes." he answered quietly. The audience fell silent, and Aziraphale imagined the archangel's brow raising sky high. He was wrong of course; Gabriel had been more than thoroughly briefed of Aziraphale's and the demon's activities (as it were) the last decade - and thus issued nothing more than a knowing smile backstage.

The woman smiled conspiratorially at the pop star; "Can you tell us more about her? Him?" she raised a brow.

Aziraphale internally floundered, this was a delicate one to answer. He could hardly speak of it out loud, much less on such a public stage. He fought down the rising color on his cheeks and remembered the interviews and fielding questions training he did so many months ago. "I admire this person so very much." he said softly, candidly. Choose your truths the trainer had said, the audience doesn't need to know everything. "Never fails to take my breath away."

The audience audibly sighed.

"Anyone we know?"

"Oh, no. No." Aziraphale answered quickly, He stared wide eyed at the lady. "I really prefer keeping things private, Oprah."

The woman's smile did not waver, "Of course, of course. Just arranging for this interview was quite a challenge for my producers. You are quite unlike many celebrities, nobody sees you attend parties, nor the Grammy's, and you don't do any public appearances aside from your album launches and charities. Is there any reason for this?"

"I guess, this whole limelight thing isn't my cup of tea. Besides, I'm kept very busy with some of my projects."

Oprah nodded, listening intently. Aziraphale found himself admiring the woman's sincerity at least, "Some, I think is an understatement Azira. You've got charities all over the place, a new song coming out and a tour kicking off in a couple weeks - when do you find time to sleep?"

"Um. I don't," he answered frankly, surprised with himself.

The host missed the real truth of the statement.

Aziraphale added quickly; "I rest by reading books."

"Books? That's really interesting. I'm sure you've heard of my book club. I love books."

"Yes!" the angel beamed, "I love books too, collecting them in particular. Rare volumes on prophecies. Or, at least..." Aziraphale's smile withered, "I used to collect old books. Now, I haven't really the time." He looked at Crowley in the audience longingly only to find the demon was fast asleep.

Oprah seemed to sense the singer's sadness and quickly changed the topic, not wishing the interview to go negative on her viewers. "Tell us, Azira, where do you get inspiration for your songs?"

That shook Aziraphale from his thoughts, and knit his brows for a second. How do you say; 'Well Oprah, no inspiration necessary, really. Heaven simply sends me all the songs they want me to sing. Via this holy chalk circle in an archangel's highrise condominium unit.' He opted for something vague;

"I get my inspiration from all good things." That sounded lame even to his ears, but he saw women in the audience just lapping it up so he continued, "I'm just on a mission to let people know the really important things in life. If they get that from my songs, then I'm happy to know I've changed someone along the way."

"So is it true that over 80% of your album sales go directly to charity?" Oprah cupped her chin in one hand, "That's eighty percent Azira. That's a lot. Even I can't afford to do that."

Aziraphale smiled, "Yes. I'd give everything actually if my er.. accountant allowed it." That line was one hundred percent true, at least. "Plus, I have my manager who figures out all of my finances anyway. Never been worried about money."

"You must be pretty close to trust him like that."

"Oh, we go back a long, long time."

The talk show host nodded, "Well, Azira's new single; 'Longing', is out today." A poster flashed onto the huge screen behind them - Aziraphale in as angelic a form his human body can radiate; sword raised in hand and a fallen demon (replete with bat wings and pitchfork at his side) under his feet. "Don't forget to catch his latest concert tour kick-off at Madison Square Garden next, next week entitled 'Symphony'." She paused for a moment for dramatic effect. "Everybody in the audience gets to bring home Azira's new sin-gle!" Oprah beamed at her audience who in turn cheered, then faced a camera, "After the break, Brad Pitt is heeere!"

Aziraphale rose to his feet as she did, and received a hearty hug from the host.

"Thanks so much for making time for us, Azira."

"Don't mention it."

A camera panned out and music ushered in a commercial break.

Crowley awoke to the noise of cheering women clutching their purses and waving at Aziraphale. The lady next to him was jumping up and down and he thought she was about to have a coronary. The demon languidly stretched, and ignored the chaos around him. He peered up just in time to see the angel and Oprah hug with the wretched poster projected behind them. He eyed it with mild disapproval, hating the fact that he was at the bottom (he would have very much liked it to be the other way around, some days. Thank you very much. And in a setting that included a mattress), but nonetheless was pleased to see that the photographer had gotten his cheekbones in a most flattering light.

"Isn't he something?!"

The demon turned to his left, "Huh?"

"Azira!" said the lady - it was the woman who Crowley thought was about to - or was now hoping to - have a heart attack. "Azira! I love you!" she called and turned back to the demon, "Such a sweet young man. Don't you just love him?"

Crowley stared at the angel smiling and talking to the host, the lady's words rang in his ears. He watched his angel reverently, a small beaming spot of calm in the midst of the deafening commotion around him. Aziraphale's true form's beauty pouring forth from his current corporation. Love, huh? Crowley thought as a rather sentimental smile began to form on his lips. He didn't need to answer that one.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot's a-commin' your way in the next chapters ;)


	5. Chapter 5

The flight back from Chicago in Aziraphale's private plane was rather boring and uneventful, save for one thing; a letter.

Crowley spent his time attempting to the plane's stock of alcohol. Meanwhile, Aziraphale nursed a small tumbler of scotch and tried his best to read through his fan mail. He answered each one personally with an elegant flowing script.

Crowley couldn't understand this - '_that's what your staff is for angel_' - but Aziraphale adamantly wanted to do it himself; '_Wouldn't you be so put-out to learn that your hero didn't even write you back himself?_' The angel's english by now would automatically switch back to English whenever the demon was around. None of the staff noticed.

Gabriel on the other hand spent the flight staring at his laptop computer, typing and talking on his cellphone. Crowley had caught bits and pieces of words from the archangel, some of which intrigued him endlessly. Quiet terms of endearment had escaped Gabriel's lips, words of '_soon', 'I know', 'sweet thing'... 'Beez_'. The screeching unintelligible reply that came from the archangel's cellphone was laughably audible in the tiny cabin. It had raised Crowley's interest immensely and the demon decided to file away this juicy bit of information for later. Aziraphale didn't notice though, and Gabriel retreated further down the plane's cabin with a suspiciously red face.

Oblivious to everyone else, Aziraphale had come upon one interesting letter. He knit his brow in confusion. "Look at this Crowley, I don't believe I've ever received something like this." he handed the piece of paper to the inebriated demon who had to take a couple of tries before succesfully snatching the letter out of the other's hand. He read for a while then let out a hearty laugh.

"It's a stalker, angel." Crowley began reading dramatically, amused;

"Azira, why do you always answer my letters as if you've never met me? Why do you pretend to be what you are not? I know who you are. I know we are meant to be together. Always and forever. You are my angel Azira. Mine. - J.S.'

The lock of blonde hair's a nice touch."

Aziraphale must have looked ill so Crowley added; "Don't worry about these things too much. Every celebrity gets some sort of stalker one time or another." He refilled the angel's scotch with one of those tiny travel bottles. The amber liquid flowed freely and the small sample bottle felt proud of its miraculous achievement. "It's not like you can't take care of yourself Aziraphale. How many mortals do you think can take down an angel?"

"Well," Aziraphale said carefully, "I suppose you're right my dear." He took the tumbler and knocked it back quickly, "I suppose you're right."

* * *

Dinner was waiting for them when they arrived at Aziraphale's flat. Crowley learned quickly that Aziraphale didn't go out for dinner anymore. He now preferred his personal chef to work out his meals while he was away. Nobody ever asked why the food never spoiled (even if it had probably been waiting at the table for the last 3 days), and was always at the perfect serving temperature when Aziraphale sat down to finally eat. _If_ he ate. That was of course, because, nobody, not even his personal chef hung about the angel's home long enough to find out. Everything was a carefully orchestrated convenience thanks to Gabriel.

Crowley sat at the table and surveyed its contents, "Looks great angel." He eyed Aziraphale who shrugged and turned to walk up his stairs.

"You go ahead, I feel like taking a shower."

Now that was new. Crowley curiously watched the angel's retreating form. "Just will yourself clean, angel. Food's waiting."

"Of course, my dear." Aziraphale sighed, "Its just... I need a bit of time to think. Showers are good for that." He didn't want to admit just yet how rattled that letter got him. The lock of hair on the letter _was _his. Where could someone have picked that up? "Don't feel like eating anyway. I'll be right back." With that, he bounded up the stairs.

Crowley shrugged and settled back into his chair. He opened the waiting Merlot and poured himself a glass. He'd just have to wait for the angel for a while, they can have dinner together soon enough.

His eyes surveyed the angel's temporary home and found that he rather liked the decor, minus the expensive dust collectors here and there. The place could use a few houseplants though, he mused. Everything looked so unlike Aziraphale's taste and there were absolutely no traces that the angel actually lived in the space save for the one kettle and mug. Crowley wondered how the angel lived like this for the last couple of years without going crazy. He knew how stubborn Aziraphale could be once he's set in his ways, his personal sense of fashion was a testament to that. And even in that, Heaven had enforced change. Sometimes, he rather suspected this was Heaven's payback for the failed Armageddon. Strip the angel of everything he loved and found comfortable, and thrust him onto a public stage where he cannot hide. Assign him work with no foreseeable, veritable end.

Crowley almost felt guilty that he hasn't come earlier to visit. Fortunately for him, guilt was not a default demonic disposition. Besides, when Aziraphale told him about this new assignment, the angel insisted that he be left alone. He knew enough to give the angel space when he asked for it.

The demon glanced at his ridiculously expensive watch and saw that it was almost 10 in evening now; about 3 in the morning in London. Patience wasn't a default demonic disposition as well, so he drank down the last of the red wine and got up to check on Aziraphale. He slowly ascended the stairs, and the sounds of the running shower wafted down the hall. That and Aziraphale's distinct voice, singing.

Crowley listened entranced, realizing for the first time that he's never actually heard Aziraphale sing. Angels had always been known for their songs; voices gifted with such clarity and sweet tonality it could bend mortal wills. Crowley followed the voice, intently listening to the melody. Aziraphale's voice was perfectly pitched, wondrously vivid like cascading silk in Crowley's mind. Yes, angels could sing, but he's heard none sing like Aziraphale. He closed his eyes, caught in the sweet sound as he found the bath and grasped the doorknob turning it slowly. The door opened silently, and steam escaped through the small crack. Aziraphale's voice came louder.

> _... Is it a sin?_   
_Is it so wrong to love you the way I do?_   
_I long for you._   
_I do..._

Crowley peered in slowly and quietly, not wanting to disturb the song. He found Aziraphale's silhouette behind the shower curtain, and licked his lips unconsciously. The demon watched the lithe body bend over to soap and rinse its legs. The angel methodically scrubbed upward then finally stretched up to face the stream of water. He must have sighed then, because suddenly the voice stopped singing and the water tap turned off.

"Crowley?!" Aziraphale was peering wide eyed behind the shower curtain, cheeks ablaze. "What are you doing here?"

"Er. I - I heard you singing and well, I -" Crowley collected himself, completely unacquainted with the feeling of being caught red-handed. He usually incited that and not the other way around. "I've never heard you sing before." he said as conversationally as he could muster under the circumstances. His mind was screaming 'naked angel!' to all of his senses.

Aziraphale reached for a towel and wrapped it around his waist before stepping out. "Really?" he eyed the demon quizzically. "Was it alright?"

Alright? Damn angel, its just about the sweetest most wonderful thing I've ever heard in 6000 years of existence. Crowley coughed, "It was okay." He advanced forward and tried to look as casual as he can, sidling up to the surprised angel. He regained some of his composure. "Or rather, it was exquissssite."

"Oh. Thank you Crowley." he took a step back, knowing immediately what was on the demon's mind. Aziraphale knew his infernal counterpart well enough to know the demon hissed for only three reasons; anger, stress and -

Crowley took two more steps and pinned the angel to the wall; a hand came up to cradle Aziraphale's head as he pressed a heated kiss on the angel's lips. "I certainly misssed this angel." Crowley smiled into the angel's mouth, forcing apart Aziraphale's lips with his tongue.

The angel gasped, and felt Crowley's probing tongue as he struggled to stay on his feet. He needn't have worried though, for Crowley was pressed up against him so close, it was a wonder the wall hadn't given way yet. "Crowley - I can't -" he said in between gasps and moans as he felt the demon nuzzling his ear then began trailing wet kisses downwards. "Gabriel -"

"I don't care." came the muffled reply. "The archangel sssaid I could do anything I wanted as long as I didn't interfere with your work," Crowley's tongue traced a line back up to Aziraphale's neck. The angel moaned against his will. "I'm not interfering, am I now?"

Aziraphale closed his eyes, breathing hard. "I... s-suppose not."

"Actually, I'm helping to cheer you up assss it were... practically part of the job description." Crowley whispered into Aziraphale's ear, sending shivers up and down the holy spine. "Admit it angel, you miss thissss just as much as I do..."

"I... uh..."

Crowley smiled impishly as he felt the angel's resolve weakening. Damn the archangel if he found out - if he doesn't already know - he'll deal with it in the morning. Right now, all that mattered was his angel. _His_ Aziraphale.

"Let's pretend tonight we're in Soho. Our London. The way it once was"

He let his hands wander down to the angel's waist, pulling him closer. Crowley found Aziraphale's lips once again, and this time, there was no protest.

That night, Aziraphale found himself using his bed for the first time since he's moved in.

With great earnest.


	6. Chapter 6

Just over a week has passed since their trip to Oprah's studio in Chicago.

Gabriel noted with great interest the change in Aziraphale's disposition the morning of the first rehearsals. He furtively followed the Principality around, eyebrow arched. He watched as Aziraphale smiled more, talked more and what was this?- attempted more of the stage choreography - though it wasn't to say he was improving. Most of the dance instructors and choreographers had deemed Azira as a lost cause and resorted to well-placed, walks and turns and twists executed in sync with the dancers - enough to make it look like the singer was 'dancing' while taxing none of his limited skills . Gabriel smiled at this, and kept it to himself.

The following days, he noted once again in amusement Aziraphale's newfound tolerance through final costume fitting for the upcoming concert. There were none (or well, maybe just one or two) of the usual protests against the 'flashy-clothes-only-a-demon-would-wear'and practically no whining about the 'hi-techy-be-boppy' stuff Gabriel's visual effects engineers were installing onsite.

Costume rehearsals went without a hitch, and the archangel had not heard a single peep from Aziraphale. He was deeply pleased.

Getting the demon on-board was a good choice after all.

Gabriel didn't really consider this to be consorting with the Enemy. Ten years ago he would have. Ah, but opinions truly could change given new perspectives. The last few years spent on Earth had been quite eye-opening, he had never spent more than a few hours at a time until this assignment. Never had spent so much time alone from Michael, Sandalophon and Uriel. With the humans, it had become very lonely, very quickly.

He thumbed through his cellphone's screen and read through his messages fondly. He would never admit it out loud but having this digital telegram thing was heavensent. He chuckled silently at the adjective, and paused to send several colorful heart emojis to his correspondence who never failed to profusely protest how much ze didn't like them. He sent more for good measure.

Gabriel's thoughts turned back to the demon Crowley. He was well aware of the raised brows from his colleagues for his decision to forge an agreement with the hellspawn, but couldn't be bothered to care. Aziraphale needed the company. Gabriel feared many times that had the Principality been mortal, or had less of the amazing fortitude he had cultivated over the millenia, he would have had suffered an emotional breakdown less than 3 months into their assignment.

  
The archangel felt for his celestial brother, it was hard enough to be stationed alone on Earth for the last few thousand years and now, Heaven had to uproot him and take him from everything that made him feel secure. The last few years was a terrible adjustment for him as well, he had never thought Earth could be so difficult to understand and navigate - ang he'd only been here less than three earth years.

Gabriel knit his brows, he suspected that this was some sort of payback for Aziraphale's role in the Events That Never Happened a decade ago. The Principality had been nothing but miserable the last few years. Anyway, he sighed as he watched electrical check the wires and lights above, it wasn't as if Heaven wasn't aware of the demon's relationship with Aziraphale. A wholly unprecedented turn of events for sure, but amazingly tolerated by Her. If She would not touch the two, then who was Gabriel to go against it?

Gabriel stood quietly, smiling as he peered out to the stage. Aziraphale was practicing the opening choreography with his backup dancers. He spotted the demon sitting just a-ways off pretending not to be interested. His fellow angel was luckier than he thought he was; to have the singular love of another individual. Something Gabriel was learning very quickly, was quite heady and intoxicating. He glanced at his phone with a quiet grin as a new message appeared.

> <I loathe you archangel.>😘🖤😏

* * *

  
Aziraphale could hear the hustle of people just outside his dressing room - the orchestrated madness that was always any huge production such as this. Aziraphale found it unsettling while Crowley practically reveled in it.

"Nervous, angel?"

Aziraphale sniffed, "Of course not." though he was already feeling the terrible jitters which always came before he stepped onstage. He'll never get used to it, he surmised. "I don't suppose you'll understand the feeling anyway Crowley."

The demon grinned, "Nope. I suppose not." He scrutinized the angel's appearance, never in all the thousands of years he saw the angel could he have thought Aziraphale would look so... contemporarily delicious. For sure, he's always thought the angel was beautiful, but never had Aziraphale's corpus been the complete package of up-to-date fashion, youth and impeccable styling all at once.

Aziraphale must have noticed the look, and found himself blushing. "Don't look at me like that Crowley." he said quietly, and tried to smooth out non-existent wrinkles in his ivory leather jacket, a pair of stylized wings were embroidered on the back. "You look like you're about to eat me."

"Snake, remember?" the demon's eyes took in the rest of Aziraphale's countenance, tight blue jeans and a gray shirt which complemented the angel's pale eyes. He hissed, absolutely pleased.

"Like that. I don't need to see past those sunglasses to know."

There was a sharp knock on the door; "10 minutes Azira."

"Yes, I'll be right out." Aziraphale called back and turned to check himself in the mirror one last time. He picked up a waiting white fedora and put it on. "Wish me luck?"

Crowley smiled, "Break a leg, angel." Aziraphale was about to open the door when he added quickly; "Then they'll have to let you get some rest. Maybe let you sleep in til you heal up."

"Don't be such a sourpuss, my dear." Aziraphale leaned forward to give the demon a kiss, but was stopped by a couple of fingers on his lips.

A mischievous smiled played upon Crowley's face, "Save it for later, I'll be looking forward to it."

The angel was blushing furiously, but nonetheless pulled away with a glowing smile. "Later then, I'll see you in a bit." He gave Crowley's fingertips a quick kiss then left to sing for his adoring fans.

* * *

The stage was set, the opening act done, and the noise was deafening. crowley found himself a comfortable nook to watch unseen, still quite amazed at the sight. Never had he imagined a setting like this, but then again, he's never imagined a lot of the things he's just seen Aziraphale do over the past weeks. A smiled formed at the corners of his thin lips, yes, Aziraphale learned new things to do too in bed that he'd never thought the angel would. It seems, Aziraphale could be most amenable to newness with just the right amount of motivation. A sense of anticipation surged in the pit of his stomach. He was indeed looking forward to hearing 'Azira' sing, but he was definitely looking forward to their after-party.

The fans were chanting his angel's name, and security did its best to keep the crowd in check (Crowley successfully tempted one though into breaking away from formation to grab a hotdog the man's been longing for all night - doesn't mean a demon should be taking a break while the powers of good were basically trouncing upon evil tonight, even if he was here technically to just to watch).  
  
The dancers dressed as rather attractive half naked imps were gyrating in-sync onstage. The light show was awesome, the stage bathed in red and streams of laser lights. Crowley had sat through rehearsals and knew the sequence, yet it was entirely different watching the show replete with the lights, the deafening sounds and the roaring crowd. The music was upbeat and as be-bop as Aziraphale could describe anything, working the audience in anticipation for Azira's appearance. The beats came up to a crescendo, the dancers circling towards the center and the fog machine turned on in perfect synchronicity as the lights in the concert hall died simultaneously and a single blue-white spotlight trained itself where the dancers were posed.

There was silence for but a moment, the audience was still, and held their breaths, and even Crowley found himself doing the same. A dais raised itself from underneath the stage, rising above the heads of the dancers and stopping as the beginning melody of Azira's song 'Longing' started playing. There was a moment of confusion though and the crowd suddenly erupted into screams.

Crowleys eyes were wide and mouth agape, he was on his feet in a second.

Aziraphale was nowhere to be found; his microphone and fedora lying messily discarded on the raised stage. The hat was the most damning; its white was stained with blood so black under the blue light.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fair trigger warnings; a bit of violence up ahead and assault. Sorryyyy. I promise theres a happy ending here.

  
ALL IN A LIFETIME'S WORK  
Chapter 7

  
Aziraphale stirred with a massive headache. Something sticky had almost glued his left eye shut, and he had to make a great effort to open his eyes. He saw red through the left and realized it was blood. His blood. His mind reeled with pain and confusion, trying to connect two and two together. Why in heaven's name was he in tremendous pain and... why can't he seem to move his arms or legs? Wasn't he supposed to be singing right now?

"Mister? Mister!"

A small voice tried to cut through the haze of confusion and helped Aziraphale focus a bit. He raised his head, and almost threw up from dizziness.

"Mister please wake up. Please wake up!" The voice's urgency snapped the dazed angel to better attention and he narrowed his eyes to concentrate. He tried his best to take stock of his situation; he tried to move for a bit and felt that his arms were bound tightly behind him to a chair he was sitting in. His ankles were tied securely to the seat's legs. Aziraphale realized that his jacket was gone, his sneakers too, and bare feet touched the cold cement floor. A large pool of blood was clotted down the left side of his ruined shirt. His mind was swimming in panic and he willed his bounds to be gone.

Nothing happened.

"Mister! Get up, he's coming back soon. You have to get up. You have to!"

Aziraphale swallowed, mouth dry; who was that? The voice was small, like a little girl's, shrill and bordering on hysteria. "Who?" he asked hoarsely. He had a throbbing headache.

"Him!" she was so close to sobbing, "Him, he's coming. Hurry Mr. Angel sir. Hurry! You're an angel, right? He says you are. You can save us mister. I know you can." The girl was babbling, and Aziraphale's vision finally focused onto a young girl crammed into a small cage of sorts a few meters from him. She looked to be wearing a private school uniform, dirty and torn, her mousy brown hair tangled into a mess framing her small desperate face. It broke Aziraphale's heart. She couldn't be more than 7.

"Tell me who's coming. Where are we?"

She pressed her face closer to her prison's bars, "I don't know. But he's a bad man mister. He's bad. He'll kill us. He will! Mr. angel, free us please!"

Aziraphale wondered at this, angel? Why or how would she guess? The answer though was for him to see soon enough; as his pale eyes roamed the room to take stock of their situation.

A shocking sight greeted him. The room, an abandoned studio of sorts was large and had walls covered floor to ceiling of news clippings, posters, memorabilia, graffiti, maps and knick-knacks all on Aziraphale's celebrity persona. His face, cut out from various magazines and posters, even clothes he recognized were his littered the place, pictures he did not recall having been taken. Wings were scrawled everywhere as well as graffiti. There were no windows, and there was only a smattering of furniture; a table nearby, a few more chairs, a television, microwave and small refrigerator, a bed. He'd scarcely realized that his stomach had turned itself inside-out when he heard footsteps coming down an unseen set of stairs.

"No!" the girl whispered harshly, "No, no, no... _he's here!_"

"I see you've made friends Azira." the horrified Principality turned to the voice, and found a man smiling down at him. He almost looked like he had fangs. "Or should I call you Aziraphale?"

* * *

"Where is he Crawly?!" The archangel glowered at his human form's most menacing, "Where is Aziraphale?!". He was beyond furious, he was beyond all anger. He probably couldn't have articulated what he felt at that moment even if he wanted to. Gabriel was worried to pieces and angry beyond description at how something like this could happen under his watch. It was taking all of his self-control to keep his staff from materializing and smiting every vaguely evil little thing in sight. It certainly didn't help that a demon was standing in front of him.

Crowley on the other hand was also righteously angry but knew enough to hold back. He's seen what archangels can do, and none of them had been half as crazy-mad as Gabriel was right now. He didn't want to take his chances. He'd also die first before losing face to the enemy by bawling his eyes out. "I don't know. But, do you actually think Hell's so stupid to take one of yours?"

"You tell me snake, nothing like this ever happened until you showed up."

"Maybe I didn't need to Gabriel. This was bound to happen. You put Aziraphale out there and expect only good things to happen?" Crowley snapped, "Wow. Where have you been? Didn't you even think of giving the angel some sort of security?"

Gabriel sniffed, "I distinctly remember you telling Aziraphale that no mortal could probably take down an angel."

"Didn't know angels eavesdropped, aside from being so inanely naive." Crowley shot back.

"I was not eavesdropping. You were well within earshot." There was a moment of silence, and Gabriel took a deep breath. "This isn't helping us find Aziraphale."

Damn right, Crowley wanted to say, but bit it down. He looked around; Aziraphale's dressing room had literally been turned upside down in the hopes of finding any sort of clue. It was only Crowley's recollection of the unusual letter a couple weeks back that held any lead. They both stood there, unable to comprehend that their human bodies were steeped in shock. It was Gabriel who spoke first breaking the uncomfortable silence;

"I will ask Heaven if they know where he is. But I truly doubt they would." Gabriel looked away, as if debating whether or not to trust the demon. Yet Aziraphale's trusted him, so Gabriel went with his instincts and continued. "I can't sense him. If I can't, then there isn't much else my side would know anyway."

Crowley nodded grimly "I can't either." he turned to leave and the archangel watched him.

"Then where are you going?"

"To find Aziraphale."

"How are you going to do that?"

"I frankly don't know." Crowley paused before exiting through the door, "But I will find him Gabriel. With or without heaven's help. And when I do, I will tear that bastard who took Aziraphale limb from limb and shove his soul into Hastur's a-"

There was a sharp laugh in a voice equally grim, "Please don't demon," A pause and tight-lipped smile rose on his lips, "You'll have to leave some for me."

* * *

"Why do you look so surprised Aziraphale? Really. I should say that the expression doesn't suit you like they do in the movies." The man leaned down to study the angel's face with a half-smile playing upon his lips. "Though... I think it does. So horribly endearing I must say."

Aziraphale watched him with wide eyes, finally connecting two and two together. "Y -you're the one who sent me a letter..." He swallowed, and watched the man smile like a very efficient predator, dark green eyes glowing with glee. Aziraphale realized that he was rather tall, taller than Crowley probably; and had he passed him on the street, the man would have constituted a fairly good example of human beauty. His eyes though, told of a very different asset; an insanely malicious flame burning within.

"Yes. You never wrote back. It hurt me you know. You hurt me." he sighed as he picked up things distractedly on a nearby table. Picked them up and placed them back down one after another. Aziraphale's terrified mind registered them as parts for a firearm and some rather horrible sharp looking implements.

"Especially when I watched your interview on TV. You had someone else. That Oprah-bitch, can't even extract any really good information out of you. But I have to thank her though, if it wasn't for her, I would never have known you were going out behind my back." He grimaced, "'Never fails to take my breath away'", he mimicked Aziraphale's words from the interview.

The man turned back to the angel, face contorted in anger. "How fucking could you?!" he punched Aziraphale's jaw and his head snapped to the side. The pain was unbelievable, Aziraphale's vision clouded almost to darkness. He willed the pain to go away, but it just won't. Why wouldn't his body obey him?! This realization doubled the angel's panic. Something was so terribly wrong.

"Angels aren't supposed to hurt people. Angels aren't supposed to cheat!" The man shouted with a force that belied his lunacy.

"I've ... never... cheated. Not... ever." Aziraphale's said in between labored breaths, forcing down the building nausea, this place felt very wrong now, draining. He hasn't felt this kind of energy in all his thousands of years. He forced himself to focus; talk he told himself, get as much information as you can. Stay calm. "Wh-what is your name?" he braced himself, expecting another blow.

"John." was the reply. It was quietly said and the pain Aziraphale expected didn't come, he almost sighed in relief. "Your lover must have taken all my letters from you. Forced you to forget about me." John picked up a waiting gun at the table, "But I can make you love me again, angel. I can"

Aziraphale looked away as his heart hammered madly in his chest, "Why do you say I'm an angel?"

John seemed to like this question and slid the gun between his belt and jeans. He leaned back on the table, ignoring the sobbing girl a few feet away. "Its rather obvious. You glow when you sing Aziraphale. I can almost see your halo sometimes."

"People see what they want to see... John."

"Yes. They only see those bright lights behind you, they only see your clothes, your face, your mortal body." John's eyes roamed the room, "There were so many clues, people are just blind. But I'm not. I'm real smart. I am."

John clicked off the firearm's safety with an ominous click. "You're A.Z. Fell. You're also A. Ziraphael. It took me a long time to realize this, you liked keeping secrets from me. I know you've never been born. You have no papers, nothing. Just taxes. You're real good with your taxes.

I knew for sure you were something different when you saved that girl who came onstage for your concert. That was last year. You knew she was dying, and you took away her cancer. I know. I followed that bitch home for daring to touch you. She didn't even know she was cured then, but I, I watched her. I watched her realize the miracle. That's how I found out."

John's eyes were unfocused and manic. "Then that got me thinking, is that why you pretended not to know me? You were afraid I'd found out your secret? But it was something else apparently. You were getting rid of me."

Aziraphale who had been scanning the room in horror for any clues, tore his gaze away from the stairs behind him thinking desperately of a plan to escape. He eyed the terrified girl. Her eyes were tear-streaked and as wide as the angel's. "Then what does she have to do with any of this? Let her go. Then we can talk... about this."

"Oh. Quite a lot." John smiled, "She's here to make sure you do everything I want you to do." he said matter of factly as he slowly sidled up to the bound angel. He leaned forward to caress Aziraphale's cheek as he sat down to straddle him in one catlike motion. He wrapped his arms around the angel's neck, "I'm sure you've realized how mortal you are in this room. Probably what took me the longest was finding the right combination of demonic sigils and latin texts to strip you of your powers. At least in here."

It was then that Aziraphale realized just what the graffiti was, he just couldn't see the sigils since his vision had been reduced to a human's. He swallowed nervously, Aziraphale's mind ran quickly through all the implications and possible solutions.

To exist physically on any plane of reality, one required a body, a corporation as it were. If this man's claims were true, then he had figured out how to sever all his access to angelic power while trapping him in this body. The implications of that scared Aziraphale immensely. He did not know what _could_ actually happen if this body expired. He would get discorporated, and himself? Will he simply return to his ethereal form - or, the angel swallowed with terrible dread, would he die with it since he was cut off from heaven?

Which was it then? He didn't know. He really didn't. Aziraphale forced himself to find a solution. Perhaps, if he can make the man believe he wasn't as vulnerable as he truly was. So he chose a bluff, and mustered as much strength in his voice as he could; "Then you know that all I have to do is escape this body."

John pressed his forehead to Aziraphale's and closed his eyes, "Of course. So why would I let that happen by killing you? We've got so much catching up to do, and I know you can be quite stubborn if you wanted to. There's only so much pain I can inflict, and I know you will endure it. So whats the solution?" He opened his eyes and turned his gaze towards the terrified young girl, and Aziraphale was no idiot to realize what he meant.

"Oh don't you dare hurt the little one." Aziraphale uttered angrily under his breath. All thoughts of a bluff and plans after that vanished.

"That depends on how compliant you can be." The smile on John's face was feral. "Now kiss me angel. Make it up to me."

Aziraphale looked away, his heart hammering, this could not be happening to him. Every fiber in his being fought against it, he felt trapped and cornered and would gladly die sooner than let anything happen to the girl - even if it may be a True Death for him. He closed his eyes and steeled himself as he leaned forward begrudgingly and brought his mouth to his captor's. 'I'm sorry Crowley. I'm so, so sorry' his mind wept.

The kiss was dreadful and cold as Aziraphale forced himself to press his lips to the other's. He withdrew, cheeks aflame, ashamed and disgusted, and he felt a hard slap sting his face.

"You call that a kiss?" John withdrew the gun from his belt, "You disappoint me Aziraphale. I said, kiss me."

"I... I c-can't. I won't again." Aziraphale stammered. He will not. He will not! His mind told itself. "I will not."

"Are you sure?" John trained the gun towards the little girl's cage, and if her eyes could have widened any further it would have filled half her face.

"L-lets be reasonable, John. You can't do this! I can't!"

"Stop being stubborn angel. " he fired off a shot towards the girl and she screamed. It was a tremendous sound, and there was a terrible moment before they heard her sobbing, a hole burned into a wall not a few inches from her head.

John turned back to Aziraphale who was the perfect picture of horror.

"Now. Kiss me Aziraphale. Kiss me the way you kiss your lover."  
  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Trigger Warnings for this chapter. Be warned. 
> 
> There is humor though, and its largely light all throughout save for Aziraphale's situation - which I did not want to sugarcoat in any way to really illustrate that such things are NOT okay.

Crowley careened down the street at a speed previously thought of as impossible on traffic-logged Park avenue as he drove away from the garden. His car - or rather, his 'appropriated' car - was a red Ford mustang convertible. It was fast, sleek and sexy, but really no comparison to his beloved Bentley waiting back home in Mayfair. He's thought about having it shipped to New York for the time he'll be spending playing "assistant" to the angel. He had been planning to tell Aziraphale tonight after the concert. Crowley knew the angel would have loved that, understanding in that small act that the demon was, in a sense, showing Aziraphale he was in this new assignment for the long haul.

But that was a few hours ago. All thoughts of his car, his plans, his after-party with the angel had flown out the window. There was a single thought running through the demon's mind as he banked left and narrowly missed a taxi cab;

_Find Aziraphale._

Find Aziraphale and that fucking bastard that took him.

Crowley slammed his foot harder on the gas, turned right and sped as a red blur down 42nd street. He was worried. He was thinking desperately of the few million places Aziraphale could be right now. Gabriel was right, he couldn't sense Aziraphale now. He couldn't sense the holy aura anywhere on this planet and that worried the shit out of him. The gravity of this fact scared the demon more than he cared to admit to himself. He could be anywhere or nowhere right now. Wiped out of existence... or worse. The thought of forever losing Aziraphale was something he had never ever hoped to endure again in his existence. Thoughts of the angel's burning bookshop and the welling despair he felt when he had thought Aziraphale was gone for good. It had taken him years to deal with that. And now, now, its happening all over again and Armageddon wasn't around the corner to take him out of his misery.

He wiped furiously at his cheek with the back of his hand, scarcely realizing that tears were falling down his face. Demons don't cry, he angrily told himself. They don't love either, another voice in his head mocked him.

Yeah, right.

Too many things in this world have proven to him that angels and demons were not set with these rules for eternity. He clenched his jaw and concentrated back to the task at hand.

Hell didn't have Aziraphale, or he would have known by now. He was sure of that. News of a captured angel would have traveled swiftly down the grapevine. He checked his phone, and his notifications were going crazy with the news. Viral. It was going viral and he quite hated himself at the moment for inventing the notion. Grimacing he dropped his phone and jabbed his finger at the radio instead. Perhaps it would give him respite. He was wrong of course, all the radio stations were talking about Azira's disappearance. He flipped through more stations. All the same. It depressed him all the more, until he finally stopped at the lone station that wasn't talking about Aziraphale. It was playing 50's songs.

As the music wafted over him, Crowley thought of his options. Gabriel was likely working with the police, like the big stupid boy scout that he was. Big help that would do, he thought sourly as he drove on.

He propelled the car forward blindly, hoping to feel something, sense anything that would lead him to the angel. Then the crooning voice from the radio stopped abruptly and a voice all too familiar spoke;

HELLO CROWLEY, WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?

* * *

  
"Now. Kiss me Aziraphale. Kiss me the way you kiss your lover."

Aziraphale's mind filled with despair. He had no choice, he struggled furiously against his bonds and found his strength no more than an average mortal's. His mind struggled to come up with a plan, any plan that could help him out.

"I... I can't." Aziraphale braced himself for another blow, "I can't with my hands tied behind my back." he said nervously. An idea was forming in his mind, as his head throbbed with a terrible ache. He had likely suffered a concussion of sorts, otherwise, he wouldn't be attempting such a devious plan.

John watched him carefully, suspicious. "Don't dare lie to me Aziraphale. I know you."

"Then - then you know I can't lie to you right now. Not after what I've... done." Aziraphale said quickly, "I need my hands to show you..." he swallowed down the bile threatening to come up his throat, "... to show you exactly how I want to make it up to you."

A smile spread across his captor's face, "Oh Aziraphale, I knew you can never forget your love for me." he reached forward and hugged the angel. He rested his head on Aziraphale's shoulder. "Alright, but just one hand for now. I know you can be really sneaky if you wanted to." He reached carefully behind the angel and started untying the rope.

"You know me," Aziraphale forced a light laugh as he felt his right wrist being worked free from the rope. He looked at the terrified girl watching and he pursed his lips into a silent 'shhh' and she nodded, understanding.

As soon as he felt his right arm free, he flexed it tentatively feeling his joints crack. It tingled a bit, parts of it being deprived of blood for quite a bit of time now. The feeling was rather alien to Aziraphale who had never experienced the sensation of 'pins and needles'. "Thank you." he said weakly.

John drew back a little and watched his captive's face, "You're welcome. Now, where were we?"

* * *

  
Great. Just great. They just had to come in calling now of all times.

"Yes, lord."

WHERE ARE YOU GOING CROWLEY?

Crowley bit his lip and wondered if there was any chance in hell that they didn't already know what he was doing. Lying, he thought would be pointless right now, so he opted for vague (although he was quite sure that was rather futile as well). "I'm looking for someone, lord."

ARE YOU LOOKING FOR THE ANGEL, CROWLEY?

He cleared his throat and answered in a small voice, "Yes." Oh great. Now he's really in for it. "I can explain sir, see - er -"

GOOD CROWLEY.

"P-pardon sir?" His face could have won 'Best Double-Take Of the Century'.

WE WANT YOU TO FIND JONATHAN SKIMS CROWLEY.

"Jonathan Skims?"

WE DISAPPROVE GREATLY OF HIS USE OF ARCANE KNOWLEDGE AND DEMONIC SECRETS. MEN ARE NOT MEANT TO WIELD SUCH POWER.

There was a thoughtful pause.

HE'S ZAPPING TOO MUCH ENERGY FROM THE POWER GRID, THE BOYS DOWN HERE AREN'T TOO HAPPY WITH THAT. THE BOSS' COFFEE HAS GONE COLD.

NOBODY WANTS THE BOSS' COFFEE TO GO COLD, CROWLEY.

Crowley, on some working level of his mind understood completely, yet he still couldn't believe it.

JONATHAN SKIMS ISN'T AUTHORIZED TO CONSUME THAT MUCH OF HELL'S ENERGY EVEN IF IT MEANS CONTAINING AN ANGEL, CROWLEY. WE KNOW WHERE HE IS.

And just like that the information was in Crowley's head. On any given day, he hated it whenever they did this. It felt like drowning for a moment with so much information it hurt. But this was not any given day and he received the information almost gratefully. It was his second double-take, he couldn't believe where Aziraphale was. No way. He slammed on the brakes and took the sharpest U-turn on the face of the planet and sped back towards Madison square.

"Th - thank you my lord. It will be done."

Oh it will be done alright. This Jonathan Skims will wish he was never born, Crowley grimly promised.

Lucky. Aziraphale was absurdly lucky the stupid human chose the most energy-inefficient sigils to mask the angel's aura.

It took raw firmament for both angels and demons to do anything 'out of the ordinary'. Both sides used it for a wide variety of purposes, from powering small things such as miracles and misdeeds, to shifts in reality, to playing with memories to... just about everything. The size of the task to be done demanded a commensurate amount of firmament; making an angel mortal and holding him secret from the eyes of both heaven and hell was by no means a remotely cheap expenditure of the stuff. Down Below was simply running low on it and nobody wants anyone to be more pissed than they already are; not especially the lords and princes of Hell who were walking psychological time bombs as it were. Besides, it wasn't as if hell would ever want to save an angel, even a singing one at that. Right?

GOOD CROWLEY

Crowley nodded, and took a sharp left onto Madison avenue.

... AND CROWLEY, SEND IN A FEW AUTOGRAPHED TICKETS TO THE CONCERT WHEN THE ANGEL'S TOUR RESUMES. WE HAVE BEEN WATCHING WITH GREAT INTEREST.

The demon almost slammed on the brakes from sheer incredulity, "_What?!_"


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings continue. Again, I reiterate that there is a point in writing villains (for me anyway) this way to truly illustrate Evil and that such things are not light in the slightest.

  
Airaphale's plan was simple, as simple as tying your shoelaces really: Get Out of the Chair. The only worrying thing about it actually was that it involved plenty of cunning and deceit. That really was Crowley's department, and Aziraphale had only ever used such skills on Crowley and no one else. He remembered fondly, manically his little gambit at the Bastille, and Crowley had indeed come to the rescue as he had planned.

This was different though, he wasn't playing the damsel in distress card now, and not for such trivial stakes such as shared wine and crepes either. This was very real, with very real life and death consequences - for both himself and the young girl.

  
Aziraphale eyed the graffiti once more hastily, he recognized Latin incantations, some smattering of Sumerian and ancient Enochian, and sigils that kept him mortally bound. They worked alright, however haphazard they were. Yet even in Aziraphale's desperate mind, he realized that they could have been made more elegant. He could tell that the sigils were cumulatively consuming more and more raw firmament and his angelic mind realized for the briefest (and weirdest) of moments that he knew the exact combinations to make the sigils and archaic texts more effective, consume less energy and even decorate the place in a more pleasing manner.

"Now where were we?" John's voice shook him out of his reverie and the angel realized how close he was probably to losing it.

"Er... yes." Aziraphale cleared his throat and flexed his fingers some more, stalling for more time, waiting for some strength to return. In the back of his head, he was holding out some hope that Crowley would come find him - no matter how unlikely and bleak that thought was. The Latin on the walls made sure of that. No celestial or infernal being can find him now, he knew. He swallowed, and bit that fear down.

He brought up his freed hand to John's face and carefully brushed away the dark hair covering his captor'seyes, mimicking something Crowley has always done for him. Aziraphale felt sick with just the thought and clenched his jaw as he steeled himself.

John seemed to like this and leaned his cheek into the angel's palm. "Yes, I've missed you so much Aziraphale." he purred.

"M-me too, I -" Aziraphale was about to say something when without warning, John suddenly leaned forward and caught Aziraphale's lips, and kissed the angel fervently.

Aziraphale gave a surprised yelp; it took all control not to push the offending face away. To bite and claw away those unwelcome lips. He felt John slip in his tongue, tasting him, taking advantage of his captive's gasp while his hands wandered down pulling at the angel's shirt. Aziraphale lost no time working on untying his left hand hurriedly. He tried to clear his mind of this terrible situation. Never had he felt so violated and so angry.

Just a little more Aziraphale, just a few seconds more, he kept telling himself. The litany the only thing keeping his mind from completely shutting down.

Just a little more. Just a little more. . Just a little more. _Just - a - little - more._

* * *

"Just a little more, just hold out a bit more angel." Crowley was muttering under his breath as he found himself stuck in unbelievable traffic, the crimson Ford slowed down to a mere crawl on Madison Avenue. Crowley was already feeling the drain of firmament; he couldn't make the traffic budge nor make a way as he was so accustomed to doing. He was fiercely imagining traffic to part like the red sea before him and reality was tenaciously fighting back. Frustrated, he punched the dash viciously, and realized with a start that although he could still will the pain away, it did so only after several attempts.

It only took a second's decision before he sprang out of the car and started running, he paid no heed to the honking horns and cursing. He knew exactly where Aziraphale was and he couldn't decide now if that information hurt more than not knowing at all. Now, all of the things that could be happening to Aziraphale were relentlessly going through his mind. All of the _bad_ things, and he needed no imagination for that; he was a demon after all.

It took him several minutes to reach one of the backstage entrances to the garden, panting and out of breath. Crowley didn't realize til then that this body of his might look good but needed more exercise than he was willing to admit. He couldn't remember the last time he felt actually tired, save for that time with the Not-end of the world. He's simply gotten so used to having access to limitless firmament - or at least as much as he ever needed or wanted. Crowley pushed at one of the large double doors and realized that this must be one of the theater entrances for stage props and the like. It wouldn't budge and a blinking red light by a security panel mocked the demon.

"Oh you've got to be _fucking_ kidding me."

It was the first time in recorded (and unrecorded) history that a lock successfully thwarted Anthony J. Crowley.  
  


* * *

  
Aziraphale felt one of the ropes unravel and he quickly started working his left arm loose. The movement however caused John to pause and he looked accusingly into Aziraphales eyes.

Had the angel had not just endured one of the most difficult minutes of his life, he would have felt the default pang of guilt built-in by his Heavenly maker.

He didn't.

There was but a moment and he seized the opportunity and swung his right fist as hard as he could, and hit the stalker right-smack in the jaw. They both felt something crack and Aziraphale ignored the searing pain his knuckles were sending up to his brain. John staggered back, the force quite literally pushing him right off Aziraphale's lap as he crashed down onto the concrete floor.

Aziraphale tried his best not to feel smug at hurting the young man but dismally failed - he ought to be justified this one time, he thought. He took no time trying to wring his other hand free from his bonds as agonizing seconds ticked by, and quickly set to work to free his ankles.

John was beginning to stir groggily and Aziraphale could feel his heart hammering so loudly in his chest it was deafening.

* * *

Unfortunately for the triumphant lock its success would only be short lived; breaking and entering was, and always will be, one of Crowley's many talents - with or without demonic powers.

The demon ran for all that he was worth down a narrow hall clutching a crowbar tightly in his hand. It had taken all of his concentration and most intense imagining to will the tool into reality. He figured he'll need to hang onto it, Crowley didn't know when or if he'll be able to pull off that trick again until the sigils are removed.

It was quite literally a maze of corridors and halls visitors to the famous Madison Square Garden never see - a confusing series of interconnected utility passages and endless storage areas, backstages and green rooms. Some employees still claim to find navigating this warren of halls and rooms a challenge, but Crowley was no mortal. He took a series of lefts and rights, and took to rarely used utility til stairs moving slowly down into the lower level of the building as if he designed the building complex himself.

He had to give credit to this Jonathan Skims, genius little bugger he is, he hid where none of them would ever think to look first. Not only that, it allowed Skims all the stalking hours to learn the easiest route to take Aziraphale. Only he would know then that the angel would be left alone for a good 5 minutes in a less frequented basement area before he appeared onstage. Crowley's mind all too easily surmised how easy it must have been to sneak up on the all-too trusting angel and the demon's gut wrenched at the thought that Aziraphale must have already been taken those precious minutes he was watching the light show.

Crowley always knew the capacity for both good and evil humans had. Skims didn't even need his tempting, he's seen countless murderers and killers over the millennia, more heinous than the other, enough to make his own stomach turn; all so creatively evil his colleagues in hell would have been deeply impressed. He cared only little for those humans, oh but this one - this one dared touch his angel.

This was fucking personal.

* * *

"Hurry! Hurry!" the girl was whispering in a shrill voice, watching in horror as John tried to shake his head clear of the pain. "Mister angel, _he's getting up_!"

"I know." Aziraphale said, teeth clenched as he struggled to loosen his ankles, his hands were shaking.

Shit. Shit. _Shit!_

His mind was cursing nonstop, he could nearly feel tears forming at the corners of his eyes - out of fear and frustration. By the time he freed his left leg, John had managed to dazedly pull himself up.

"Mr. Angel!"

Aziraphale had barely tugged his other ankle free when he looked up just in time to find John glowering down at him. His mind barely registered the moving fist and it hit him with blinding pain. He staggered forward, now free of the chair, and weakly scrambled to get to his feet.

"You sneaky sneaky angel!" John shouted and Aziraphale felt a kick right into his midsection knocking the wind out of him.

Aziraphale coughed and spat out blood, he was breathing heavily. It was only by tremendous force of will that he kept himself from fainting.

John grabbed him by the hair and pulled Aziraphale into facing the terror stricken girl. "You fucking angel. Now its going to be your fucking fault sweet little Catrina would have to die." he grabbed for his gun and aimed right between her eyes.

This close, Aziraphale knew in horror that he wouldn't miss like the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for everyone who comments, follows, and stalks this work. Thank you so much for the Kudos, ya'll make my (black) heart full. Sorry for the late upload, er, Friday night happened.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned, violence up ahead. 
> 
> Served up by Aziraphale who is about to prove why he was the Guardian of the Eastern Gate.

  
Gabriel had received a call some 20 minutes ago and had contacted Crowley immediately, only to find that the demon already knew where Aziraphale was. It was good to know his contact was pretty thorough.

He was walking hurriedly with four policemen, the detective in charge who had introduced himself as Lt. D' Agosta led the way. They didn't question why Gabriel knew, it was simply a fact that men never second-guessed the opinions of divine beings in their midst.

He could feel the sweat trickling down his temple, and fought the instinctive urge to miracle it away; couldn't be too careful with these humans. Little things like that piqued their curiosity, and they were very curious indeed. Gabriel clenched his jaw, and prayed that Aziraphale was alright.

* * *

Crowley ran like he's never had before, not even the time he was caught in Pompeii the night Vesuvius erupted and turned the Roman city into a smoldering time capsule.

He was so, so close, he was feeling the firmament in the air growing thicker and he drew upon this - Crowley couldn't shape it yet, but it certainly bolstered his strength and endurance. He saw the nondescript door just down the narrow hallway, looking old and battered just like the rest of this area in the complex. Crowley was no architect, but from the knowledge given to him by the lords of Hell, he deduced that this was an old studio, built over and forgotten as Madison square remodeled and grew over the years.

Crowley finally faced the door breathing hard, beyond it would be Aziraphale and Jonathan Skims. He was almost too afraid to find what was beyond it. What if he was too late? What if Aziraphale's suffered too much he'd never be the same again? Its been over an hour now since, and the demon knew all too well how much could happen in just those sixty minutes. He swallowed, and placed his hand on the doorknob.

* * *

Aziraphale couldn't believe what was happening. How could it all have gone so wrong? He was only doing his job, granted he didn't really like the job to begin with, but he did it anyway. Mighty well too, if he did think so himself. He was just a singer, an angel doing what he was told to do. How could he drive someone to do something so horrible, so... fantastically evil? Him! A holy being!

He forcibly focused his eyes on the young girl, she was just as terrified, tired and drained as he was. Aziraphale could only imagine how long she's endured alone in this room, locked like an animal in a cage, and now, staring down the barrel of a gun. A child must never experience something like this, no man should ever be forced look upon a weapon that was about to take his life. She doesn't deserve this. Was it his fault as well for what she has endured?

Aziraphale closed his eyes for a moment, almost numb from exhaustion, his terrible injuries and the loss of blood had began to catch up to his body. So this was how it felt to be human. It was all pain. All pain and no power to do anything about it.

No. He can't let it happen like this. He can't let this madman take a life on his watch. Never on his watch.

"Don't you dare hurt that child." the angel hissed.

John jerked the angel's head up and Aziraphale winced at the pain, "What did you say?"

Aziraphale summoned all of his energy, he was an angel. He may be mortal now, but he's still an angel. An angel thats been on this Earth for some odd 6000 years and several millennia more fighting against real demons. He remembered his days on the battlefield, who he had been, what he had been; how he had earned one of the loftiest titles - a Cherubim. And how he had lost that title for giving away his flaming sword - and even then, still given a position to command armies. Yet still a Principality despite his softness. He curled his fist and uttered with a voice and conviction he hasn't used in many, many centuries, a version of himself he had so carefully, painstakingly hidden and locked away;

** _"I said, don't you dare hurt that child."_ **

Had John had a sensible head on his shoulders, he would have recognized the deadly tone - a tone uttered by one older than any human can fathom.

He didn't.

His mind only cared for what he wanted and what had to be done to get what he wanted. And he wanted Aziraphale's full cooperation. He'll hurt, maim and kill as many as it takes to break his angel's will. John, born Jonathan Cain Skims to a pair of negligent parents, couldn't have even comprehended how Aziraphale's change in mindset had just evened out the playing field.

"Or what angel? You'll kill me?"

Aziraphale grabbed at the wrist holding his hair, and closed his eyes, and _remembered_. "I will do my utmost best, not to." He pulled down as hard as he can on his captor's arm, bent down sharply and used his own weight to throw John off-balance. He had no access to angelic speed, nor strength, but really, none of that was necessary if you were as old and formidable as Aziraphale.

This caught John completely by surprise, and realized as he fell on the floor that the angel had soundly broken his left wrist and forearm. He landed with his other hand, gun clutched and onto his elbow. He rolled onto his back to find Aziraphale standing over him, blocking out the light. The angel's near-silhouette was outlined sharply by the halogen lamp above and the image gave John his first real fear of the divine.

John brought up his hands as Aziraphale delivered a blow to his jaw and another jab to his face. He tried to block the onslaught of fists but to no avail. Aziraphale grit his teeth and paid no heed to the screaming pain running up his arms from his ruined hands.

John fought the darkening edges of his vision and threw one last desperate kick to his opponent's stomach.

Aziraphale was thrown back, and he crashed into the chair that had held him, causing him to tumble backwards. He grunted in surprise as John scrambled to get up.

Now, roles reversed, John glowered down on the angel, the manic glow in his eyes bright with anticipation. He brought up his gun while his left arm hung limply at his side. He feverishly mopped the gushing blood from his nose with the back of his hand. "You have to calm down Aziraphale." John knelt on one leg, and pushed the barrel of the gun to the angel's shoulder. "Calm down, okay?"

John squeezed the trigger and Aziraphale had no time to defend himself. He screamed in pain as he felt the bullet enter his flesh and shatter bones. He watched in horror as blood flew everywhere before his eyes.

The girl screeched at the top of her lungs.

* * *

Crowley had kicked in the door the moment he heard the gunshot, almost tumbling down the stairs in his horror. All rational thought escaped him when he saw Aziraphale's prone body drenched in blood, and a man holding a gun.

He was at the man's side in an instant, the unfortunate soul barely realizing what was happening until Crowley had sent him flying across the room with a blow to the chest, gun thrown right off his hand.

"Crowley?" the voice sounded excruciating to the demon's ears, and he knelt down to look at Aziraphale. The angel was taking labored breaths, eyes half-lidded with pain. "How did you find me, my dear?" He tried to smile, the demon was the most welcome of sights.

"Shhh." he held Aziraphale's hand and felt the broken knuckles, saw his ruined shoulder and the clotted blood on his angel's face. Something terrible uncoiled in his gut. "You rest up a bit alright? I'll be right back."

Crowley got up, and straightened his coat. He started walking towards where Skims was crumpled to the floor as he tried desperately to catch his breath; the crowbar had hit him hard enough to leave an impression across his torso. His face was twisted in agony, ribs broken, he couldn't breathe. Crowley's lips curled into a menacing smile, serpentine tongue slithering in and out tasting the fear in the air. He threw the bent crowbar aside.

"Jonathan Skimssss."

"Wh-who are you?" Skims pushed himself flat against the wall. His terror-filled eyes were trained on the forked tongue, "What are you?"

Crowley paused before the man and grabbed him by the collar, his smile could have melted Skim's face off. "You didn't think only angelsss existed on this world, did you?" He picked up the man without effort and threw him headfirst into a corner. There was a loud thud and moans of pain followed. Crowley was sure he broke a few more bones but that was not enough. It won't ever be enough payment for what he had done to Aziraphale.

He walked slowly towards the human entangled in a heap of pain and fear, knowing that each slow and measured step only heightened Skim's terror. He took a sidelong glance at the little girl watching with wide glassy eyes, knuckles white on her cage. "Tsk. What kind of coward are you? Need to hide behind a tiny little child, do you now?" Crowley roughly hauled up Skims and forcefully slammed his face into the concrete wall.

"P-please... I'm sorry. Please..." he sobbed pitifully. Blood and spittle came dribbling from the corner of his mouth.

But Crowley's vengeance would not be sated. He took off his sunglasses with his free hand, and he stared over at the poor human with golden serpentine eyes. His back to the girl and Aziraphale, he allowed Skims a privilege so few humans have been so unfortunate to see; Crowley's face began to change, cheeks grew taught over snakelike bones, scales began to appear and his canines grew further into sharp needle-like fangs. It was a terrible sight to behold, and it was about that time that Jonathan Skims lost all control of his bladder.

Crowley was hissing with dry amusement, "You will regret that you were even born Ssskimssss"

"FREEZE! Nobody move!"

There was a scuffling of feet and the patter of leather shoes and boots quickly coming down the stairs, Crowley didn't have to turn to figure out who it was. He heard guns cocked and he smirked at Skims.

Crowley gave Skims one last shove before letting him go, "Lucky bastard," he hissed, "Don't even think this is the last you'll see of me."

"I said freeze!"

When Crowley turned, his face was as it had always was, the humans none-the-wiser. He had his hands raised, just to be cautious and Gabriel rushed forward.

"It's okay, it's okay. He's with us." Gabriel said gesturing to the demon. He pushed past the policemen and rushed to Aziraphale's side where Crowley was also headed. The archangel's hands were trembling as his vision registered the sigils written all over the room. He too was beginning to feel very queasy inside the room.

Behind the trio, the police were busy cuffing Skims who was screaming 'the devil! The devil is among us!'. They found the young girl and began to work her free of the cage. Meanwhile the lieutenant was calling for back up and paramedics with his two way radio.

Crowley tried to smile for his angel, as he knelt down to check on Aziraphale. "You're alright now. I'm here now." He grabbed the angel's hand and realized with a start that it was cold, "Aziraphale?"

Aziraphale took a few agonizing moments to stir. He painfully opened his eyes. "I... I feel so sleepy."

That jolted both archangel and demon with alarm. "We have to get him out of this room." Gabriel said, as a police officer knelt down beside him.

"I'm afraid we can't move him, sir. We have to wait for the paramedics."

"No. We have to get him out of this room. Like right *now*." Gabriel insisted, and shoved the man away. "Azirapha- Azira, stay awake. You have to stay awake." he said as he slowly hoisted up the battered angel with Crowley's help.

"Sir, I insist that we not move Mr. Azira. We may be doing more damage. The paramedics are on their way." the young police officer was saying but it fell on deaf ears. Some days later, he wouldn't be able to quite recall what exactly happened tonight, except that he had been there when they found the kidnapped pop star.

Aziraphale's face was contorted in pain, but he was fighting to stay conscious. "The girl. Where is she?"

Crowley looked into his eyes as he and Gabriel carried Aziraphale between them. He gave his angel a small squeeze at the waist where he was supporting him and said gently, "She's fine. They got her out."

"Oh good. Oh good..." Aziraphale's face fell forward, the world was becoming so, so dark and so heavy. "I was afraid, for a minute there that I'd gotten her..." he coughed, "killed or somesuch..."

"Shhh. It's okay. Everything's alright now angel, rest easy." Crowley said fighting back the tremble in his voice.

Gabriel gave an audible sigh of relief as they bounded up the last steps and exited the room. They both propped Aziraphale's back up the nearest wall, where Gabriel had miracled a blanket. The archangel watched confused as Crowley tore off his own jacket and began working to staunch the bleeding immediately. He gazed on helplessly as the demon ripped off fabric from his own jacket to tie into make-do tourniquets for Aziraphale's ruined shoulder and hands.

"It - it will take a while before you get back to normal Aziraphale" Gabriel said, then turned to Crowley, and realized what he was doing. Fallen angels can't heal others. "Demon, allow me to help him."

Crowley stared at him for a moment, as if battling with himself then finally, reluctantly moved back and permitted the archangel to run his hands over the worst injuries. Gabriel softened as he saw the depth of Aziraphale's injuries. He was unable to meet Aziraphale's eyes as he worked slowly. "I am... sorry for this Aziraphale. Truly."

Aziraphale gave a small smile, hey, now _that's_ a miracle if he ever heard one. "Its, nothing Gabriel. All part of the job." His eyes were drifting close, and Crowley's face began to slowly disappear into the darkness. He was so happy the demon had come for him, so thankful the girl will be alright, so grateful he was far, far away from John. Aziraphale had a small bastard smile on his face as he drifted slowly into welcome sleep,

"All part of the job..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Try to spot my tiny nod to another book series I am a fan of.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our Happy Little Ending

  
Aziraphale sipped the piping hot tea and set it down carefully on the fine porcelain saucer in front of him. He's sure he's never had pandan tea before, and wondered why he never got around trying any of the more exotic Asian varieties until lately. It was accented with some lemongrass and was wonderfully fragrant and sweet without tasting like the commercially 'flavored' teabags they sold now at the grocers. It didn't even need sugar.

"Thank you so much Louisa, the tea is wonderful."

The woman sitting before him smiled, "Oh, shhh nonsense. I can't even begin to thank you enough for saving my Catrina." Her dark hair was elegantly combed back, reserved curls fell to her shoulders. She was a spitting image of her daughter. "More ube cake?"

Aziraphale smiled and carefully reached over to the plate she offered, "Thank you. Though I wouldn't say that I did it all by myself." He expertly speared a portion on his fork and marveled at its purpleness. It was so very New York, so cosmopolitan in nature. The flavor was, again new, but something he quickly found he quite liked. Maybe 'new' wasn't so bad?

"Yes, of course. I haven't seen Mr. Crowley lately." She laughed, "Maybe I should have more sherry or wine out so he'd come by more often.

The angel laughed, "Maybe." Aziraphale took a bite and looked out the living room's wonderful view of New York's upper East side.

Its been about 6 weeks since 'the incident', the young girl - Catrina, daughter of Louisa Warren - was back in school, the angel's right arm was in a sling, and the world got back turning.

Aziraphale would be lying if he said that he hasn't had any nightmares about that night, but it was safe to say that he was feeling better. The few days he spent in the hospital was more for appearances - Heaven opted to let his body heal the 'normal' way once he was out of the red - and he had to admit that he quite liked the endless boxes of chocolates and sweets and stuffed animals that kept streaming in. Crowley huffed and scowled through the whole business as the private room they got for the angel became increasingly overstuffed by flowers and balloons and get-well-soon knick-knacks, but nonetheless stayed at his side. Crowley and his tailored black suit stood out like a sore thumb in the midst of the brightly colored things which the angel simply adored. Crowley scowled and Aziraphale pretended not to notice the sudden increase of in-hospital romances-gone-sour, and emergency buttons going off at random times.

Jonathan Cain Skims was sitting in a cell somewhere Aziraphale would really not want to know about.

"I recently acquired a John Calvin first edition, Christianae Religionis Institutio" Louisa said. It brought Aziraphale out of his reverie, "I'm quite sure you've heard about it." She smiled, and the angel found himself liking the woman even more than he already did.

The Warrens, it turned out, was an affluent family of two - Catrina and her mother Louisa. An old rich family that never had to worry about anything (until 8 weeks ago when Catarina disappeared on her way home from school), did charities and - to Aziraphale's pleasant surprise - had a great interest in acquiring rare books. He had spent his first visit to the Warrens browsing their impressive collection in the private library.   
Catrina too was such an angel, and Aziraphale found anger simmering at the memory of the events that led them to meet. He liked visiting often since then, and the Warrens welcomed him. Louisa's gratitude could find no limit, and had loved the vast knowledge and common interests the young man brought with him. She could never have guessed how the pop star knew so much about old books.

Aziraphale smiled and finished his cake, "Oh my, thats just been auctioned off! Don't tell you were the one who bought it! That Calvin is -" His cellphone rang and it vibrated on the coffee table. He looked up apologetically, and Louisa waved it off.

"I'll go get some cookies. Cat should be home any moment now." She smiled and stood up to leave Aziraphale alone. She saw quickly enough that it was Mr. Crowley calling, and it took no genius to see that there was something between the two. Cute pair she thought, remembering how her late husband used to be as dogged in his pursuit of her as the Mr. Crowley was with Azira. They may not be a traditional pair to many, but never had Louisa Warren been traditional in her beliefs anyway.

Aziraphale smiled thankfully and picked up the cellphone with his good hand. He fiddled for a moment, remembered to slide his finger across the screen to accept the call, "Hello, Crowley?"

"Angel, you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Stop worrying."

There sounded like a shrug on the other line, "I'm not worrying."

Aziraphale playfully rolled his eyes and got up to stand by the window. Crowley had insisted to give him a cellphone, and called more often than he would admit to himself. The demon checked in all the time regardless of the fact that Aziraphale practically didn't go anywhere without the demon's knowledge. The demon denied it as much as he called to check, but Aziraphale knew enough that what had happened shook up Crowley as much as it did him - more than the end of the world it seemed.

"Louisa's been wondering when you'd visit again." There was silence on the other line, he continued, "She says she'll break out some sherry if you come by."

"Just sherry? The woman's got to have something stronger in her bar."

"Crowley!"

There was a light chuckle, "Just kidding, angel. Hey, don't forget about those tickets."

Aziraphale nodded, "Yes, yes. Would six be alright? They're the best seats in the concert hall." He snapped his fingers and the tickets appeared in Crowley's jacket pocket.

Crowley felt the miracle instantaneously. He pulled out the gold foiled cards, "That should be enough. Got any merch? I'm feeling generous."

"The concert tour doesn't start up til seven weeks from now Crowley. You can have some of the old marketing materials instead." the angel snapped his fingers once more and a miscellany of Azira fan merchandise appeared in the car boot.

"They won't mind."

Aziraphale turned and leaned back against the window sill. The large arching casement framed him as if an angel illuminated in a stained glass window. He peered at his nails, only faintly interested. "So who are you giving them to?"

Crowley seemed to think this over carefully, "Uh... some fans of yours."

"Never thought you were such a philanthropist." There was silence, and Aziraphale knew instinctively that the demon was smirking. "Oh, I almost forgot, Gabriel's been looking for you."

"If he's looking to thank me again, tell him the breadbaskets with thank you cards ain't cutting it."

"Oh, no, no. He's been asking if he could give your number to uh..." Aziraphale tried to remember, "Ford? I think. Yes. Ford Modeling agency." the angel tried his best to stifle a laugh, "My CD cover caught their eye, they think you have some promise."

"Sure, whatever." the demon answered with a groan in his voice, "Anyway, I'll be over to pick you up at around 6 or so. Dinner at Le Bernardin?"

"Sounds lovely." The signal broke up a bit, there was static and Aziraphale looked puzzled, "Where are you Crowley?"

"Oh, don't - " Static. "-ry about it. I'll be r-" More static, "- there. See you."

Aziraphale looked at his phone and slowly thumbed across the screen to disconnect. Wonder where the demon was? He was mulling it over when Catrina came running in and hugged the angel's legs.

"Mr. Angel! I knew you'd be here. We baked muffins in school today, I made some just for you and your boyfriend." She beamed up at him and Aziraphale found his cheeks coloring. Louisa smiled inwardly as she watched her daughter drag their guest into the kitchen. Azira was truly heaven-sent, like a son she's always wanted but never had.

* * *

Crowley watched the call disconnect and dropped his phone into his coat pocket. These Americans loved their apple phones, and the symbolism of the logo did not escape Crowley's wry humor. The demon was liking the country more and more. He was beginning to love their penal system too; how simple little changes here and there with the paperwork and a healthy dose of persuasion could just about get you anywhere.

He stepped out of an elevator and into a dimply lit hall painted a sickly old green color lined by fluorescent lights. He liked the appalling decor - how appropriate he thought. He walked with a spring in his step, past several security locks and checks then was finally escorted by a burly guard to a lone room at the end. A couple of figured stood darkly by the door.

Crowley sauntered over as casually as he can. A duke and prince of hell awaited him. He eyed them warily, and caught Prince Beelzebub busy on zeir cellphone. Was the lord of the flies texting?! Crowley schooled his face into nonchalance but did not miss the small smile that played upon his fellow demon's face. Ze quickly slipped zis phone into a pocket when Crowley came within a few feet.

Crowley's brow nearly shot up when he realized Beelzebub had been using a phone only heaven issued to its angels... specifically archangels. He feigned intrigue to Dagon's presence instead. He had been expecting Hastur actually.

"Hail, Prince Beelzebub, Lord Dagon."

"Hello Crowley. It has been a while." Dagon hissed, ze eyed the other demon carefully. Ze remembered the trial in hell a decade before. One cannot be too careful with this particular individual. There had been talk that Crowley may have Ascended, or his relations with the angel had earned him celestial qualities. A Grey in their world of Black and White. One which the bureaucracy of Hell did not wish to tarry with anymore.

Beelzebub stepped forward. "Did you bring what our lords have requested?"

Crowley reached into his coat and produced the tickets. He handed them over and set a bag by the lord of the flies' feet.

Beelzebub glanced suspiciously at the bag, "What is this?"   
  
"Bit of a thank you gift. From Aziraphale." Crowley said as nonchalantly as possible, "Told him you all would probably hate it anyway."  
  
The lord of flies looked at the parcel and the bag's mouth yawned open obediently. Beelzebub seemed to consider the contents for a moment then the bag began to sink into the floor. It disappeared in another moment as the prince of hell pocketed the tickets.

"Well then," Crowley said, "Gentledemons, our business is concluded."

Dagon and Beelzebub nodded, and they began to sink into the concrete floor as if it were made of quicksand. Crowley watched them go, ineffably relieved.

  
He finally walked further down the hall and turned into an alcove with a single man standing sentinel. Crowley gave him a curt nod.

The guard unlocked the door, rapped twice and gestured to Crowley that he may enter. The demon smiled, entered and closed the door behind him. There was man with a shaved head sitting at the far end, a small Formica table separated them. He was facing the corner, hands cuffed together on his lap and he didn't bother to look up.

"About time you got here. My hearings in a couple of days."

"I'm afraid your lawyer can't make it today, Sskimsss."

The man practically jumped with a start when he recognized the voice and he bolted out of his chair, eyes wide. "Y - you!"

Crowley's grin could only be aptly described as demonic. "Hello Skimssss. Missed me?"

"No, no, no. You can't be here." Skims backed himself up to the corner watching with terrified eyes as Crowley made the table disappear with a snap of his fingers. "Help! Help! Warden!" he began calling desperately.

The demon advanced slowly. He pulled off his jacket and hung it neatly on a chair back. "Your warden's a little preoccupied right now." he said as he rolled up the sleeves of his ebony shirt.

Skims desperately clawed at the wall behind him, head turned to watch the approaching form, "Please, I swear to God! I've done nothing to you! What could you want from me?"

"Ah, but you have, you little prick. You dared to touch something that was mine." Crowley stretched a bit, and the bones in his neck gave a satisfying pop. "Nobody has been fool enough to do that until you came along." the demon carefully took off his sunglasses and dropped it into his coat pocket. "See, Aziraphale is_ mine_, and you sodding piece of shit dared touch him."

Realization dawned on the cornered mortal and his eyes were wide, "Y-you?! You're the one that Azira spoke of."

Crowley's smile was predatory; "The one and only."

"How? What?" the man seemed to wrestle with the thought of an angel and a demon together. Then he remembered fitfully the events of that fateful night. "Oh God, no... Help me! Someone! Guard!" He began yelling with renewed strength as the demon approached closer and closer.

"No one can hear you right now, and nothing will be left of you when I'm done." Crowley said. "No one will come looking for you, no one will remember your name. And when your body expires, I have a couple of friends personally awaiting your arrival in Hell."

The demon finally closed the gap between them and the lights in the room went out save for one. "Then you will realize just how kind I have been. I think that's about fair, given what you've done to me. To my angel."

When Skims began screaming and pleading and tearing his throat out in agony, the guard smiled and thumbed up the volume of his new iPod; Azira's song "Beyond Redemption" blared in his ears.

* * *

Crowley's fingers played lazily through Aziraphale's blonde curls, as he pulled at the blankets. He closed his eyes for a moment and reveled in the warmth of the angel's naked body next to his. Crowley sighed in contentment. All was right now in his world, and never again would he be so careless. He shifted a bit slowly to lay his head down and bury his nose in Aziraphale's hair, careful not to move the resting angel.

"Mmph..."

"Aziraphale?" he said softly as he planted a soft kiss on the fair forehead.

"Thank you." came the muffled voice on his shoulder.

Crowley's raised an eyebrow, "For what?" He shifted the angel's right arm a bit when he saw that he was trying to move it to a more comfortable position.

"That," Aziraphale's raised his eyes to look up at his lover, "...and for putting up with me." he added quietly.

The demon smiled and thoughtfully adjusted the arm sling that kept the angel's healing shoulder in place. "Yup, I do put up a bit for you, you know." he said playfully.

There was a sigh that was more amused than annoyed. "A 'welcome' would have been nice, or an 'it's nothing'."

"I'll say that when you can start properly thanking me after you've healed up."

The tone cast no doubt to Crowley's meaning. Aziraphale blushed red, and damn this younger body for being so receptive. He resorted to tracing little circles on Crowley's chest and decided to change the subject promptly;

"Say, where did you go this afternoon? I couldn't reach your cellphone."

"Work. Tying up loose ends, taking the souls of the damned." Came the quick reply, "The usual."

Aziraphale had the nagging feeling that Crowley had been up to something but didn't push it. He was feeling very sleepy, and reminded himself that he was officially on sick leave and that he was entitled to some non-thwarting for the next few weeks. "You could tell me all about it in the morning, then."

"Mmmhmmm." Crowley watched the angelic eyes slowly drift close and he could not help but think once again how beautiful Aziraphale was. "Angel?"

"Mmm?"

Crowley opened his mouth, but thought better of it and shook his head, "Oh, nothing. I'll tell you tomorrow." He watched Aziraphale's peaceful face as he pulled the covers over both of them. He can tell the angel tomorrow that his Bentley was on its way to New York, and so were the angel's beloved furniture from the old bookshop - his battered armchair, his workbench and crumbling cabinetry, the old stove, everything. Crowley thought it would be a nice surprise, easing the stress from Aziraphale's lifetime of work ahead. The bookshop in Soho will be waiting for its owner's return, Crowley had seen to that years ago, as well as his flat in Mayfair. It would all be waiting for them at the end of Azira's career, when they can come home to jolly old London.

Crowley closed his eyes and let sleep takeover; heaven can truly be anywhere you make it to be, and right now, he was finally, finally in his.

  
\- fin -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone for reading, leaving comments and for the Kudos! Ya'll made my day. Sincerely. 
> 
> I am considering to write a whole new "bonus" chapter to this, but am a bit on the fence. It will likely take me a while to write, but its kinda been poking at me for some days now. Let's see. Let me know what you think.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this some odd 9 or so years ago. So its book canon, but I've updated it, cleaned it up, and edited elements to make it TV series canon as well. Back then Gabriel and the other demons were only given very brief mentions, and I think the biggest edits I've done for this version of my old story was to update Gabriel. 
> 
> This story is done. Its just a matter of uploading the chapters in the next few days :) 
> 
> Comments are certainly most welcome :) I live for em!


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